


Saving Revan

by MeaRiver



Series: Force of Will [1]
Category: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeaRiver/pseuds/MeaRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Darth Revan is struck down by his apprentice Darth Malak, Bastila enters his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving Revan

**Author's Note:**

> So I have an unhealthy obsession with KOTOR, specifically Revan, the snarkiest former Sith Lord ever. I have a variety of ideas for fanfics—retellings, alternate POVs, behind the scenes stuff, etc (and it’s not all pairing stuff either). I don’t know how many I’m going to write/ post, but here’s the first one I wrote (which is also first chronologically, at least from what I’ve thought up so far).

Darth Revan’s mind was dark and cold. Bastila should not have been surprised—she was inside the head of a Sith Lord after all. It wasn’t as though she had expected sunshine and rainbows, but all the same… the mind of a tactical genius such as Darth Revan should not be so… empty.

“You shouldn’t be surprised by that, either,” said a voice behind her.

Bastila whirled around. Before her stood the Sith Lord Darth Revan himself, or what was left of him. His robes were bloody and torn. The only part of him that was unmarred was his mask.

“Why shouldn’t I be surprised?” Bastila heard herself ask, and suddenly realized she had been speaking the whole time. The bridge she had forged between their minds must be deeper than she realized.

“Because,” the Sith Lord said simply, “I’ve contracted a fatal case of mortality, and it seems my mind’s going to go before my body. Shame, really. I always prided myself on my sanity, especially these last couple of years.” He looked off into the distance, lost in thought. A piece of his robe tore itself off and melted into the darkness. Darth Revan shook his head as if to clear it and looked at Bastila again. “What exactly killed me, anyway? Was it you?”

Bastila blinked. He was so _calm_. Weren’t Sith Lords supposed to rage against the Force as they died? Or at least against the person who killed them? Bastila hadn’t actually struck the final blow, but Revan seemed to believe she had. He _should_ be trying to take her with him, but she could sense no ill intent coming from him, only peace, curiosity, and a sense of wry amusement. With how close their minds were at the moment, she wasn’t able to _not_ sense his every emotion. She should probably be grateful that he wasn’t assailing her with blind rage, but all she could manage was confusion.

“My apologies for not comporting myself as a proper Sith Lord for your entertainment, Padawan Shan,” Darth Revan said dryly.

Bastila sputtered, suddenly aware that she had broacasted her thoughts again . “I—I wasn’t—you’re _dying!_ That would be _rude_!”

He chuckled. A crack blossomed across his mask. “Bastila Shan, worried about being rude to a Sith. I don’t know whether the Council would be ashamed or proud. Now tell me, because I’m _dying_ to know, what happened?”

“It… it was Darth Malak, I think. The bridge was hit by a missile, and our boarding vessel was the only Republic ship to get this far behind your lines.”

The Sith Lord sighed. A piece of his mask broke off, revealing an eye. “Malak. That _idiot_.” Regret, sorrow, frustration, and fond annoyance flowed from him. “I should have killed him after Telos. I meant to, but I couldn’t, not after he followed me so far. Guess the Council had a point after all about emotional attachments. Which means one of my last acts in this life is admiting that Vrook was _right_ about something. Dammit.” His visible eye closed, and a wave of despair welled up from his soul and into Bastila’s, and more cracks blossomed across his mask. “It was all for _nothing_.”

“You can help us stop him,” Bastila gasped, struggling to maintain the link as her mind recoiled from the sudden onslaught of alien emotions. It would have been easier if he was enraged instead of mourning, because at leasts she’d be _prepared_ for that.

Darth Revan snorted, sending more chunks of his mask flying. “Believe me I would, but as you can see, my mind is deteriorating. Massive head trauma, you know how it is. I can’t tell you what I no longer know.”

“Please,” Bastila pleaded. “I can help. Let me save you.”

“ _Save_ me?” the Sith Lord demanded, and there was rage. Enough of his mask had fallen away for her to see his derisive sneer. “You want to _save_ me, after all I’ve done? I betrayed the Order to take the easy street to power, lead an army of Republic soldiers to conquer their own worlds, and sent my _best friend_ down the path to insanity, setting him up to be hated and villified by the Republic for generations to come, if it even _lasts_ that long! And you think saying ‘I’m sorry’ in the last moments of my life will somehow make it all _better_?”

His sudden wrath hit her like a cruiser, sending her to her knees. He wasn’t even trying to hurt her, but his raw emotion could easily kill her. She could feel it crushing the life out of her even as she clung stubbornly to their mental link. “I could… I could save your life. If you let me. _Please_ , Revan.”

The onslaught of anger receded after a moment, replaced by simmering indignation and profound bewilderment.

Darth Revan stood over her. His mask only covered one eye now. He had an odd look on his face, as though he was trying to figure out the anatomy of some bizarre new alien species.

“You… realize that my mind is broken, right?” he asked. “That it’s still breaking as we speak?”

“Yes,” Bastila said, rising to her feet. “I know. But I can still help. I can keep you from dying until your body’s healed.”

“But _why_? Even if you heal my body, I may never regain my memories. I might not be myself anymore. I might not even be _sane_.”

“You’d be alive.”

“There are things worse than death, Padawan. I should know.”

“If you want to help us defeat Darth Malak, this is the _only_ oppurtunity you’ll ever have.” The dying Sith Lord stared at her.

“My connection to the Force has already faded,” he told her, watching her carefully. Bastilla wondered what he was thinking and why she had to wonder—perhaps, even now, his connection with the Force was stronger than hers. “I’ll have to start again from scratch, if I can ever start again at all.”

“I’m not trying to save your Force powers,” she pleaded. “I’m trying to save _you_.”

“This isn’t going to ‘redeem’ me,” he continued impatiently. “Even if I wake up a saint, it won’t matter. This isn’t a second chance for _me_ , just my body. It may never even wake up again.”

“I know,” Bastila said. “I would prefer it if this _was_ a real second chance, but even if I _knew_ that you would never regain a single useful memory or Force ability, I would still save you.”

Darth Revan gave her that look again, the one that said “what are you and what have you done with sanity and the laws of the universe?” Most of his mask was dust now, with only a small chunk sticking to his brow.

“What the _hell_ am I worth the effort for, if not all that? This is going to have serious consequences, for both of us. Why do that to yourself?”

“Because you’re dying, and I’m a Jedi.” Bastila held out her hand to him. The Sith Lord stared at it, then back at her.

He shook his head in amazement, and his sudden grin seemed to brighten his entire dark and broken mindscape. “Bastila, you are a _marvel_.”

Revan took Bastila’s hand, and the dark world went black.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you like this, and want to see more! Criticism is welcome as well.


End file.
